


Cast to the Waves

by Chizu5645



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Pirates, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chizu5645/pseuds/Chizu5645
Summary: For FrUK Week 2017Prompt: Pirates / Gold





	Cast to the Waves

“It is definitely  _not_ my fault we’re here.”

Arthur glared a hole into Francis’s face. “Oh, sure it isn’t,” Arthur snapped, peeling off his too-small boot. “Was I the one who engaged in a pointless conquest to find sirens? Was I the one who ignored all the precautions of going into siren territory? Was I the one who dragged a rival ship crew into this stupid venture? Was I the one who brought not only their own but another ship’s crew and drowned them? Was I the one who did all that?!” Arthur rubbed the sand off the mostly dry inside of his boot. “No. We’re lucky that the sirens let us live for now.”

Francis sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. Damn him and his need to look gorgeous. “I believe you were the one who wanted to tag along if I I’m not mistaken.”

“Because that was my map you stole!”

At that, Francis turned to smirk at him. “Not my fault you lost it in poker. That was a fun game, you know, with you being drunk and all.”

Arthur did a rude gesture at Francis before peeling off his other boat. Great. Absolutely great. He was stuck on a deserted island with the worst man alive. Not to mention this was smack-dab in the siren territory, and it’d only be hours until they found the two. There was no telling whether there was even food, fresh water, or shelter here, save for the few sparse trees that led to a thicker grove. He couldn’t risk making a raft and swimming out; if the sirens didn’t find him first, he would have trouble navigating where to go. The port where both Arthur and Francis were previously was a night’s journey away, and that was through the best conditions possible (almost insulting, considered their circumstances) . Who was to say that a random sea storm would rise while he was on his pitiful boat?

“Arthur.”

Arthur ignored Francis, instead shoving his foot into his boot. He’d have to check his overcoat as well, maybe his compass wasn’t lost cause–

“Arthur.”

“I’m  _trying_ to  _ignore_ you,” he said through gritted teeth.

When Arthur finally laced his boots and made sure they were secure, he looked up to see Francis standing up and looking expectantly at him. His sky-blue coat hung folded in his arms, and he had redone the ribbon in his hair. Francis then pointed behind him, towards the grove.

“If you want to join me in finding shelter for the night, you can help me,” Francis offered, smiling.

“Shove off.”

Francis shrugged. “If you insist.” And with that, he trotted off towards the grove. He didn’t walk he didn’t run; no, he had to trot.

Arthur scoffed, shucking off his coat. He examined all his pockets: his compass and seeing glass survived, thankfully, but letters he saved in his coat pocket now had unreadable text and blurred ink. Arthur scowled; not as if he could contact his mutuals now.

He folded his own coat over and stood up. As long as he found shelter (before Francis, especially), he could survive. Not for long, perhaps, but long enough. Couldn’t be as hard as living weeks on end on a boat across the seven seas, no?

* * *

Francis had claimed the only cave on the island.

Arthur wouldn’t have thought much about it – caves weren’t the only type of enclosure – if it wasn’t for Francis’s invitation. He had the audacity to offer his damn hole to Arthur. Weren’t they archrivals? Enemies to the bitter end? Faithfully trying to end the other’s existence in the most humiliating way possible? Just because fate let them survive on this God forsaken island did not mean that Arthur would try to make amends to their relationship, no way in hell–

A few days later, after a few restless, achy nights laying on the sand with little to no heat (note, palm leaves do not make warm enclosures), Arthur begrudgingly took up residence in Francis’s cave.

“Are you sure you don’t want to bathe?” Francis asked, barefoot and only in his pants, as he walked into the cave. He collected his hair into one hand. “You really do smell.”

“I’d rather I survive and smell than clean myself and put myself in the mercy of sirens,” Arthur snapped. He flicked his compass once again, and the needle spun in a complete circle. It wasn’t working, for some reason or another…

Francis frowned, tying the ribbon in his hair. “You know, during our entire stay on this island, I’ve only seen one of those merfolk creatures you keep blathering about.”

“One?” Now, Arthur did look up. “Only one? No, that’s– That’s impossible. There should be more.”

“I’m telling you what I saw, Arthur,” Francis said. “This one had a dark blue tail, they looked like a teenage boy, and it disappeared when I approached them. Not exactly the ‘aggressive’ and 'territorial’ you claimed.”

“Then what attacked us a few days ago?” Arthur demanded. “Magical storm rocks? With enchanting voices?”

Francis groaned. “Don’t remind me…”

“Magical storm rocks that led you straight into the waters with their power of voice, you’re right,” Arthur muttered, turning his attention back to his compass. “Of course you’d be the first few to be charmed.”

The cave lapsed into silence as Francis changed into his clothes and Arthur kept trying to calibrate the compass. After a while, Arthur discarded the compass in defeat and stood up to pace. Francis finished strapping on his boots.

“There have to be more sirens on this island,” Arthur said, his bare feet smacking the stone floor. “There’s definitely magic on this isle, but there’d have to be beings who maintain it… The obvious answer being the sirens… Perhaps they’re only accustomed to salt water? Or maybe they don’t know we’re here…”

“That siren boy would have told his kind that we are here,” Francis offered. “And they wouldn’t have any issue luring us to bodies of water, correct?”

Arthur remained silent.

“Perhaps a visit to the stream is in order–?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Arthur said forcefully, whirling around. “We’ve already hidden from them long enough, I’d rather not go prancing to my death. We’re not going to the stream.”

Francis smirked. “Is it really the sirens you’re afraid of? I’ve already told you that they’re perfectly safe. I’m not dead, am I?”

“You could be next time.”

Francis’s smirk fell, and he shrugged. “I thought you were genuinely curious about these sirens. You’re not going to learn anything if you keep yourself shut up in here, are you?” He started walking out of the cave. “I’m going to find more food for the both of us. Come along if you want to.” And with that, he slipped out of view.

Arthur huffed, snatching the compass. The needle spun around half way, then swiveled the opposite direction. Sighing, he placed it back on the ground.

He truly was curious about the sirens. There had to be more; a single siren couldn’t take down two ships, could it? His need for survival (and his very much secret fear of drowning) made him balk at the entrance of the cave, but with one final thought he quickly laced his boots up and climbed down to follow Francis.


End file.
